


Winter Visits Dorne

by nymeriamartell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, I just want Sansa to be happy, Multi, Sansa Stark typical violence, and I love Dorne, im gonna warn you all right now that this is gonna be a Slow Burn if you've ever seen one, sansa deserves a family. grrm took her family so im taking her to dorne fuck canon., so why not combine the two?, this is neither completely show canon nor completely book canon it’s a beautiful mix of both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-08 14:26:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13460166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymeriamartell/pseuds/nymeriamartell
Summary: He could not take someone as important as the key to the North without serious negotiations. It was a good thing Doran was the best. In which Doran isn’t quite as coolheaded as he would like to be, the viper with slow acting venom, who will not let another wither and die within the walls of the Red Keep. Elia would have been disgusted, the whole of Dorne would be disgusted with him, and he would be disgusted with himself. The solution would not be ideal, for anyone involved, but she would be safe. Maybe in Dorne, she could find a family. He would be her goodbrother, after all.In which Doran rescues Sansa with his own clever thinking, quickly integrating her into his plans as though she was always meant to be there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first go at this pairing, though I've read nearly every work in their tag at least twice. i'm hoping to get everyone's voice right, but i'm human and i will make mistakes.  
> so, if you're willing to give me a go, i will forever love you.  
> (p.s. i know it jumps around a little and is pretty short, but i had to get a lot of this out!! things are planned for later, things i hope you'll like!!)

            He wanted to throttle the blond bastard with his own two hands, as he was rolled into the throne room. Sansa Stark was, by all rights, princess of the North, and she deserved better than beatings before the court. He looked around, and few enough people aside from his own party looked shocked at the ordeal, some looked bored while others looked almost pleased, to see this young girl being abused by grown men, and knights at that. They were beating this child for the amusement of the king, and Doran was sent spiralling back to a different time, a different king, a different girl. Did Aerys put Elia through this, before the Lannister’s destroyed her? Was she humiliated before court, more than she already had been by Rhaegar. They had killed her, and they were slowly killing this girl. Was Tywin stupid enough to let his grandson abuse the key to the North? Or was he simply callous enough to let it happen, right under his nose. All seven kingdoms knew who really ruled, and it wasn’t Joffrey, no matter how loudly he may proclaim himself to be king.

            He could feel his Captain of the Guard’s hands shake on his rolling chair, and knew that if Areo was any less loyal to him, or to the Martell family, he would have rushed forward and slain those mummers’ knights like they were training dummies. He would have brought the girl into his arms, and under his protection, and carried her to Dorne like The Stranger himself was chasing them. Doran would send him forward to do just that, if they were not currently in the lion’s den, and the usurper’s son wasn’t currently holding a crossbow at the poor girl. When the slimy boy-king finally looked at the prince of Dorne, and put down the crossbow, Doran sent half a dozen of his own men to escort the girl back to her rooms. He knew they would do right by her, keep her modest and get the maester to her quickly. Hopefully they took _his_ maester to her, Doran could not see the men in King’s Landing doing anything to help her. They forgot who they stood before, as it seemed. Any child of Eddard Stark would have winter in ther bones and ice in their veins. Winter could never be broken.

            “Your highness, while what I am sure you are doing is of the utmost importance,” he had to keep his voice cool, keep himself from seeing Elia’s blood before the iron throne. Sansa Stark was not his blood, but Elia would have been furious if he had turned a blind eye to another girl suffering in the Red Keep.  “My presence was requested?”

            He wanted to spirit the poor girl away from Kings Landing, put her on a horse and ride off into the sunset as if he were a knight in a song. But songs were for children, and this was the game of thrones. He could not take someone so important without serious negotiations, and simply riding out was not the way to safely secure Sansa. It was a good thing Doran was the best.

 

* * *

 

            Her face when the prince of Dorne was announced was one of relief, but her moment was burst when Joffrey, her once sweet beloved, didn’t so much as pause. She couldn’t keep the sobs contained in her chest, the air against her bare back and the wounds shockingly painful. Everyone just wanted, watched her humiliation, her suffering. It was no different to standing next to Cersei as her father’s head was cut off by Ilyn Payne. Ilyn Payne, Meryn Trant, Cersei Lannister, Joffrey Lannister, Tywin Lannister. She had her list of those who had hurt her, or those who took pleasure in her pain. And the North remembers.

            When a handsome knight with Dornish colouring wrapped her in his coat and whisked her away from the Throne room, she wept for a different reason. Surely these men didn’t know who she was, who she was to the king, the danger they and their prince would be in for showing her even this small amount of kindness, but she couldn’t tell them. Her throat was hoarse from begging, from crying, from screaming. The knight took no liberties, his hands never wandered as they made their way to her modest chambers. She could see he was confused as Shae guided them there, _this can’t be the rooms of a Stark_ , she heard him say, but it sounded like it was from miles away. She was placed on her hard bed, a soft hand resting against her brow for a moment, before she was alone in her rooms, alone with her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

            Daemon couldn’t believe what his eyes had just shown him. Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark, beaten and abused and _humiliated_ in front of court. This would never happen in Dorne, no matter what offence had occurred,  and from everything the knight had heard, Sansa was guilty of naught but being there for Joffrey to torment. Every part of him begged to stay by her side, and he could tell his fellow knights felt the same, but he had to get the maester for her back. Wounds like that, if left untreated, would fester and surely kill the slip of a girl he had just carried. Four-and-ten, and yet she felt as light as Obella in his arms. Once two men were stationed at her doors, their orange silks and dark skin showing them as Dornish to any who risked trying to enter, Daemon ran to summon Maester Caleotte, and escort him safely to Lady Stark’s rooms. He knew the prince would not let such a thing happen again to Sansa, no matter what. Both brothers were still too raw after poor Elia’s passing to let another maid die in these halls at the hands of the Lannisters.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW!! I totally wasn’t expecting such a good reaction from the first chapter, it literally brought tears to my eyes! And I totally meant it when I said that comments were my mental espresso, because this chapter was about ten words when I woke up and now it’s a full-fledged chapter! This is my first multi-chapter fic, and I’m just starting to get into the grove of writing longer chapters, so they’ll probably get longer as I go.  
> Also, a special thank you everyone who left kudos and commented on the first chapter. It means so much more than you know.

            There was no one in the city that Doran wanted to see less than Tywin Lannister, but if he wanted to save Sansa Stark from his sister’s fate, he had to talk to the only man who had the power to give her away. He kept himself confined to his wheelchair, even though he could walk short distances, wanting the rest of the seven kingdoms to think the Ruling Prince of Dorne a frail man. He was stronger than he would let them see, physically and mentally, and would always play that to his advantage. When Caleotte had reported to him that this was certainly not the first time the Stark girl had been punished like he had seen, Doran’s blood boiled. What could she have done to face the wrath of a boy as cruel as his supposed father? He had also said the girl had cried and cried, sure that the Prince, his knights, his maester, would be put to the sword for the grave crime of helping her, and that she had flinched from the softest touches, even with her handmaiden standing by to keep him honest, and to make her feel safe from straying hands. It had taken him hours just to convince her to let him see the injuries, more on top of that to allow him to put the most basic of salves and bandages on them. Caleotte couldn’t promise that they wouldn’t scar, but he had promised that she would be safe enough from infection, leaving salve and bandages in the room so her ladies could attend to the wounds when they needed changing.

            Tywin was writing a letter as Doran was announced and let into the Hand’s chamber, not even bothering to look up at the Prince. The disrespect was not shocking; this was the same man who had ordered the deaths of a mother and her two children at the hands of his most brutal banner man, but it was telling nonetheless.

            “Apparently, my Grandson, our King, was dolling out punishment when you and your retinue arrived.” Doran’s dark eyes met Tywin’s green, he had to resist the urge to snap. It would do no one any good to lose his temper, but the same blood ran through his and Oberyn’s veins, and Doran could not let such disrespect pass him by.

            “Punishment? More like ambush.” On the same steps his sister’s bloodied body had been laid on, wrapped in Lannister red for a final disrespect. “Grown men hitting a little girl, for actions she has no control over.” He didn’t mention the parallel he saw to the Mad King, but let his words hang in the air.

            “I am sure you have your reasons for coming all this way? The betrothal between your son and Myrcella has been all but announced.” Tywin pushed his letter aside, and Doran caught a quick glance at it. Just as he had suspected, it was nothing of great importance, certainly not something more important than the tender relationship between the Crown and Dorne.

            “My son is not the only member of my family in need of a spouse.” Doran shrugged, leaning back in his chair. On a lesser man, that might have been seen as a slouch, but everything Doran did had a regal air about it.

“Yes, your daughter is still unmatched, isn’t she?” The Prince had to stop himself from lunging across the table. He would rather throw himself from the highest tower than let his beautiful daughter marry a Lannister. She deserved a husband who would worship her, who would cultivate her power and let her rule, not one who would stifle her.

            “No, my brother.” Doran could see that he had caught Tywin’s attention there. Famous for his lovers and many bastards, Doran had given up on him ever settling before Ellaria came into the picture. The mother to four his nieces, and a mother figure to the other four, she would always hold a special place in Doran’s heart as the woman who he was sure had saved Oberyn’s life. He knew she would do the same thing in his position, wanting to save the girl from further abuse, and Doran could not think of a better couple to nurse the girl back to health. Back to a place where she could trust soft touches and be free to be who she wanted to be. “And as such, I have a proposition for you.”

 

* * *

 

             Over in Dorne, Oberyn felt a shiver run down his spine, like winter itself was breathing down his neck. He was laid in bed with Ellaria and their youngest daughters, Obella nestled against his side, with Elia hugging her mother. Doreza always favoured sleeping at the end of the bed, with Loreza squeezing in the middle. Obella started to wake as Oberyn shivered, looking at her father with confused eyes. “Papa?” She asked, voice heavy with sleep.

            “Do not worry, little one.” He cooed, holding her tighter, pressing a kiss to her brow. He had had such feelings few times before, like just before Doran had told him that they would be allying themselves with the new generation of dragons. Oberyn and Doran were close, closer than ever after Elia’s murder, and Oberyn seemed to have a knack for working out when Doran was up to something, before even a whiff of a rumour had made its way to Sunspear. He let out a soft sigh, hoping his brother knew what he was doing. Schemes were well and good, when plotted out from the relative safety of Dorne, where no lions dared stalk, but he was in their den now. He sent a prayer to the Mother, to keep his brother safe, and when his eyes rested on his lovely paramour, all thoughts of his brother were sent to the back of his mind for later consideration. His wife in all but words, the mother to his children. Every time he saw her interact with them, his heart swelled. He loved her more each and every day, never thinking it possible that such a love could grow more than it had over the years they had been together. Her eyes fluttered open, and the soft afternoon light made her look like she was made of pure gold. He thanked the gods each and every day that she had been sent to his life. He could not imagine a life where he could be happier than he was right then. When she smiled, it was brighter than the sun, and Oberyn couldn’t help but mirror the smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment down below! They fuel me like mental espresso! xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

            Sansa didn’t know what to expect, when her presence was requested by the Prince of Dorne. He had been nice to her so far, but all kindness came with a hidden cost, and Sansa didn’t know what she had left to give. She was thankful that he had saved her from further humiliation and injury in the throne room, but couldn’t understand why he had put himself at risk by helping her. From her mother, she had heard that Dorne was a wild place, full of lust and fighting and heat. From her father, she had heard a different story. A place of pride, like the North, a place that doesn’t forget slights against them, and the Lannister’s had committed the greatest crime of all, killing three Martell’s in one night. Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon, all gone too soon, and in such a horrible way. Her father hadn’t told her the details of what had happened to Princess Elia and her children when he told her the story on the King’s Road, except that she was betrayed in a time of war, but since his death Sansa had put the pieces together. Their deaths would not have been quick, and Sansa had been told in so many details by Cersei what happened to women during a siege.

            Daemon Sand, the beautiful and kind knight who had carried her from the throne room, hadn’t left the door to her room since she had been laid on the bed. He guarded her like a true knight should, in a way that would have put butterflies in her stomach just a few years earlier. When she asked him why he simply looked at her, kindness in his dark eyes in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. Men these days looked at her with a range of looks, from lust to disgust, but this kindness took her back to the warm halls of Winterfell, of Jory and Jon and Robb and even Theon sometimes. Daemon didn’t make her feel safe, Sansa was unsure if she would ever feel safe again, but he made her feel something. These days, that in itself was a rare feat. She hesitated when she was finally brought to Doran’s chambers, pulling her lower lip in and chewing on it furiously. All she knew of the Prince is what he had done for her, and while that on its own gave no cause for concern, she was worried about his motives. What use could she have to a prince?

            Her back ached, a familiar feeling of split skin and bruises, though it felt a lot better thanks to maester Caleotte salve. She tried to list the things she needed to thank the Prince for in her head, already plotting out how to word it without speaking treason to the king. Daemon opened the door, and she sucked in a breath.

 

* * *

 

 

            Physically, she looked just like her mother. She had the real Tully look about her, tall and with her red hair. But her spine was dead straight, and her eyes had a coldness to them that Doran had seen before. When Eddard Stark came to escort Lyanna Stark’s body home, Doran had looked him in the eyes. His daughter shared that haunted look, and it broke the Prince’s heart. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and tell her everything would be okay, like he had done with his children and nieces when they had nightmares, but Caleotte warning about her skittishness told him that such affection would not be appreciated. Not now, at least.

            “Lady Sansa, I am glad to see you up. Caleotte advised against requesting you from your rooms while your back is still so tender, and while I respect his opinion, I wanted to see you.” He gestured to the plush chair he had at the table, with jug honeyed milk and platter of fruit sitting in the centre. “Help yourself. I find a little honeyed milk now keeps my stomach settled later when Caleotte gives me my potions.” He watched her reaction then, as it told him a lot of a person’s character. She didn’t look at his chair, just as she didn’t not look, and he left as though she saw past it to just see him.

            “And how have you been, these past days? The journey from Dorne must have been taxing.” Her voice was brittle and small, but her shoulders didn’t slouch even as she sat. The most polished courtesies he had seen since his arrival, and the first person who neither gawked at him or avoided his gaze entirely. Her eyes were ice blue and as empty as a clear sky, and had seen far too much for a girl of her age. She made no move towards the drinks or the fruit, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

            “Oh, I’ve been fine.” He waved a hand, pouring two glasses of the milk, placing one before her. “I have a few questions, Sansa, but I need you to know that you are safe here. That may be hard to believe, after what you’ve been through, but you are.” He would not allow another hand to be put on the girl, not ever. Though she did not know it, she was under the protection of House Martell. She nodded, though he could see it was an empty gesture.

            “Sansa, I know what I saw yesterday was just the beginning of your abuse. What I need to know is, would you like an escape?” She didn’t move for a long moment, just staring at him with those empty, empty eyes. How much had she suffered to be able to hide her emotions so well?

            “I am loyal to the Crown.” She replied, a well-rehearsed line. Doran sighed, it was the response he expected but he hoped for so much more. He had a few cards up his sleeve to pull, a few moves to make, but they were lower than he wanted to go.

            “My Lady, I am sure you have heard the story of my sister, Elia, and her children?” He asked, and her eyes flew to the floor, for the first time unable to meet his. He sighed again, rolling closer to Sansa and placing his hand over hers. “The Lannister’s killed them, when there was no need. Elia never hurt a soul in her life, and yet they killed her, right here in this castle.” He watched as the pieces were put together in her mind. If the Princess of Dorne, wife to the future King of the Seven Kingdoms, was not safe in this castle, what hope did Sansa Stark, disgraced daughter of a supposed traitor, have? “I can take you away from here.”

            Her gasp was almost undetectable, her eyes widening only slightly. Doran hoped she would come to Dorne, if only to help Arianne learn to school her emotions so well.

            “Away?” She asked, breaths slow and even. He could almost see the cogs working in her mind, trying to work out his next move. His heart broke, she was too young to understand this game so well.

            “Away. To Dorne. My brother, Oberyn, is wifeless, though he does have his paramour. He is one of the fiercest warriors you’ll ever meet, and honourable despite what you may have heard. In Dorne, we do not hurt little girls. They are kept safe. It would be a long betrothal, at _least_ until you are six-and-ten and longer if you wish it so.” He paused, hoping that none of what he had said was missed by Sansa.

            “Dorne.” She said quietly, and he could imagine her there. He imagined her playing in the Water Gardens with his nieces, talking politics with Arianne, and Trystane teaching her cyvasse. Her eyes would water at the spicy foods at first, but soon enough she would take to them, just like she would spiced wine. He would order her a whole wardrobe in her father’s colours, every silver silk he could find, and maybe one day she would favour the orange and reds of the Martell’s. If she ever permitted it, and it was within her right to refuse, she may one day carry more of his nieces, little girls with their father’s eyes and their mother’s strength. But, Doran was getting ahead of himself. The poor thing hadn’t even accepted yet, and he was already planning out her life.

            “You would be safe, Sansa. I swear it, on…” He almost said, as his honour as a Prince, but Joffrey had been a Prince once too. How had _that_ worked out for her? “I swear it on your father’s gods, Sansa, that I will keep you safe.” His brother too, and he can count on his daughter agreeing with him once she hears the story. She looked at him with those big blue eyes, and Doran wondered if she really did believe him. For once, he had no longer plan, no ulterior motive, she wasn’t a pawn in his quest for revenge. She was the revenge, just not the type he had come to King’s Landing looking for. What was a better way to honour Elia? The Mountain that Ride’s head, or the life of a girl?

 

* * *

 

 

            The tears started falling the second the door closed behind her, the last rays of sun falling through her window and turning the whole room a hellish red. Sansa couldn’t even tell what emotion she was feeling, whether it was shock, or relief, or terror, as she pressed her back against the heavy wooden door. She was to be married to the Red Viper, brother of Doran. She had experienced nothing but kindness from every Dornishman so far, had experienced nothing to make her doubt the sincerity. But she had heard the rumours, and the truths about his paramour and eight daughters. The fact that he had bastards wasn’t as much of an issue as Sansa thought, as much of an issue as it had been for her mother, she was just worried what he would expect from her. Maybe already having a woman would make him less likely to want her, though she couldn’t be sure. There were too many possibilities, and after learning Joffrey’s moods as well as she had, the unknown was more terrifying than anything.

            She had said yes, though. Her longing for escape outweighed the fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven't gotten the hang of ao3's editing process, as it's different from word, so please bear with me and forgive me for any mistakes. I'm trying, I promise.  
> I'm also trying just... writing in general? This is the longest single work I've ever done and it feels... Odd... I think I like it?
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment down below! They fuel me like mental espresso! xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment down below! They fuel me like mental espresso! xoxo


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